


And the world will still be there

by abreathaway (silverraindrop)



Category: The Durrells (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21597766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverraindrop/pseuds/abreathaway
Summary: After the war, each day that passes without news sets a new weight in  Louisa’s stomach. Everyday she waits by the window watching for the postman going about his routine. And everyday at eleven o’clock he turns the corner onto their little street, and everyday he fails to turn into their garden path. After a while, Louisa decides a distraction is better than watching for nothing. And so eleven o’clock becomes Louisa’s appointment with the kettle in the kitchen.
Relationships: Louisa Durrell/Spiros Halikiopoulos
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	And the world will still be there

After the war, each day that passes without news sets a new weight in Louisa’s stomach. Everyday she waits by the window watching for the postman going about his routine. And everyday at eleven o’clock he turns the corner onto their little street, and everyday he fails to turn into their garden path. After a while, Louisa decides a distraction is better than watching for nothing. And so eleven o’clock becomes Louisa’s appointment with the kettle in the kitchen.

Gerry, being now grown up, knows better than to ask her of the reason. Instead, he takes her place by the window, watching every day as the postman passes. Eventually, he joins her in the kitchen, the sick feeling of waiting too much for even him. "It's only been a few weeks mother, there's probably just difficulty with overseas post. I'm sure Larry is fine." It strikes her, as she watches him lean against the counter, how much Gerry has grown in the last years, and exactly how young he was when they left Corfu. She had no doubt that if put before him now he would be extremely aware of what exactly happened before they left. And how Larry wasn't the only one she needed news from. 

Two days later, and Margo voices her confusion when the two of them promptly move to the kitchen as soon as the clock chimes the hour. "Well that was weird, even for this family." Gerry mutters to her, something that he won't let Louisa hear, and Margo's mouth forms a silent 'o'. Soon enough, the kettle whistles and it is safe to return to the living room. There is no post waiting on the hallway floor. 

The longer her letter goes unanswered the more restless she becomes. After nights of interrupted sleep she arrives at the Petriedes's. Florence and Adonis came to England shortly after she did, deciding that England would be safer for Florence, but Corfu could not spare it's only doctor, not at a time like this. A cup of weak tea and a gloomy conversation concludes that they haven't had any news either. They force themselves into more positive conversation, helped along with the accompaniment of an energetic Adonis, who, much to Florence's disappointment, is developing an English accent. "I want to take him home Louisa." The declaration stirs the unease in Louisa's stomach. Do they have a home to go back to? 

It is dark by the time Louisa returns to the house she begrudgingly calls 'home'. In reality, it is a pale imitation. Even with the garden, and a view of the sea, which is slowly clearing itself of the remnants of war. There is no table outside for mealtime. There is no donkey. No pelicans. No sunshine. No peeling paint. No Spi-

She steels herself and opens the creaking gate. 

The absence of these things is not to be dwelled on. They have managed, just about, to rebuild something of a life here. The children are content. Louisa knows they are not happy, but content is nothing to be scoffed at in this day and age. Louisa struggles to admit to herself that she is not content. It is clear as day to look at her, written all over her face. Thinned out by rations and exhaustion. Paled by the dread that has been pulling at her for years. Framed by greying hair. 

And wasn't that something to come to terms with in of itself. Florence had chuckled when she pointed it out, sobering immediately at the realisation of what exactly this signified to Louisa. Margo offered to dye it for her. Gerry said it looked nice. Leslie grunted. Time was moving. Against all odds the world was going on around her. And she couldn't stop it. All she could do was make peace with the streaks of grey. 

And she had. Until she had the opportunity to contemplate her life returning and she was struck by how dreadfully tired she looked. And looking in the mirror she can see she now looks even worse after three weeks of waiting. Frowning, she takes in the wrinkles threatening to form at her mouth. Forcing a smile, she sees weaker ones gathered at her eyes. 

She has another sleepless night. 

  
  
  


The children are working when eleven o'clock comes. So she leans alone against the counter listening to the kettle build to a whistle. It's almost at its peak when there is a distinctive knock at the door. Louisa nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound. No one who visits regularly knocks on her door. The children come and go as they like, and Florence knows to simply call out to announce her presence. A knock means a formal call. Which, as Louisa is incredibly aware, is not a sign of anything positive currently. Opening the door, there is the postman. 

"Sorry Ma'am, but a man has asked to be taken to this address, and I need to make sure that is alright before I leave." It is an odd consideration. But, she supposes, it is a comforting one. She can feel her hands shaking, and she lays one against the inside of the door in an effort to force it to steady. 

"Um, yes, who is it?" She knows who it is. She refuses to admit it to herself before she sees him but she knows. There is no one else who would want to call to her who would need this help to find her. Or who would arouse suspicion from a local postman. The postman steps aside and she is right. It's him. And she just about collapses against the door in relief at his image before her. 

"Louisa." He says it and it floats around in her head. Lighting it up completely, clearing it of everything else that it could possibly hold.  _ Louisa. Louisa.  _ She knows she is crying when she hears her own voice reply. 

"Spiros." She hasn't moved yet. She is still clinging to the door for dear life, and she can feel tears streaming down her face now. She must look ridiculous. A middle aged crazy woman sobbing in her doorway at the sight of a strange foreign man. Surely the postman thinks her deranged. But at this exact moment she finds she doesn't care. And manages to prise herself from the safety of the door and throw herself into Spiros. The entire firm, warm, figure of him. He smells of travel, and her suspicions that he came directly from the ferry are confirmed. But beyond it, he smells of him. Feels like him. Each whispered  _ Louisa _ he gives to her hair sounds just like her thoughts had for years. And she's sobbing into his shoulder, her grip on his back surely enough to leave an imprint. 

It's a scene. She knows it. And when she comes to her senses enough to apologise to the poor postman she sees him awkwardly closing the gate on his way out of her front garden. So she directs her attention to Spiros' face. Like hers, it is thinned, and like hers, the hair around it, and now on it, is greying. He is beautiful. And alive. And she is crying again. 

Eventually, he kisses her. And kisses her and kisses her. And she kisses him back with equal desperation. Until a bark from a neighbouring dog brings her back to the present and her Englishness takes over and she decides to lead him inside. She tells him to leave his jacket on the rack by the door. And suddenly he looks even more like himself. As if he could have just walked into her villa in Corfu, instead of her dreary little semi-detached in Bournemouth. He's all white shirt and suspenders. And he immediately begins to roll up his sleeves once his jacket is off, and Louisa's heart teems with the familiarity of it all. 

She leads him upstairs. With the half-hearted guise of having him put away his bags. They have a spare room, but that is not where she leads him. His bags are left at the foot of her bed, and she pulls him closer to her and doesn't let him go. 

  
  


They are dozing in the high afternoon when Florence's voice cuts through the silence. "Louisa?" She starts up, holding the sheets to her chest for some reason, leaving Spiros to chuckle beside her. "Louisa?" 

"One moment Florence!" Louisa calls in reply, scrambling to re-dress. Spiros does the same until she shoves him back down into the bed. "You are staying right where you are until I can get rid of her."

"Why?" Spiros asks in his Spiros way and Louisa has to fight to not kiss him. But she doesn't have the time. 

"Because Florence knows a lot about me. But one thing she does not need to know is that the first thing I did when I saw you, was take you to bed. I'll call to her tomorrow, and tell her you're here." He makes a face of concession, and settles himself into the bed again. Louisa, fastens the last of her buttons and runs out the door. 

" Sorry Florence, I had a uh… Thing...upstairs…" Florence stares at her, confused.  _ Well done Louisa. Not suspicious at all.  _ "Tea?" 

"Tea." 

  
  


It's another hour before Florence leaves. An hour which Louisa spends listening for every sign of disturbance, and fretting about her appearance, hoping that everything seems as normal. 

When Louisa returns to the bedroom, she finds Spiros sitting up, naked, in the bed, a novel she had been reading propped open in his hands. "I didn't know how much you missed me Louisa." He chuckles, sending heat to her cheeks and causing her to snatch the book from his hands, and give a light wallop with it on is bare chest. 

"Cheek doesn't suit you Spiros." And even as she says it she settles against him. Drawing him in for a kiss. 

It is late afternoon by the time they stir again, and close enough to the time the children should be returning for them to need to get out of bed." Margo is having her dinner here tonight, and I could do without comment, so do please look presentable." She begs of him as she re-pins her hair. 

"Larry is in Corfu, and if anyone were to comment, it would be him." She had cried again when he told her that Larry was okay. And Theo, and Dr. Petriedes. Somehow, they made it through the war unscathed. Even Lugaretzia hasn't succumbed to any of her ailments. 

" Even Margo has her moments, believe me. So you, as handsome as you look right now, need to look completely proper." And he does look incredibly handsome. And not at all proper. Louisa is loath to burst this little bubble and share him with anyone. 

"I will be the image of propriety." He teases, leaving his shirt half unbuttoned as he reaches for his trousers. 

  
  


Louisa meets Margo at the door, taking her coat and hat from her. "Margo darling, set the table for four would you? We have company." The girl is confused, naturally, but moves to the kitchen nonetheless. 

"Who is compan-" Louisa hears her squeal as she hangs her daughter's things next to Spiros' jacket. His muffled chuckles can be heard through squealing and what Louisa can imagine is a painfully tight embrace.

Dinner, meagre as it is, is a jovial affair. Bolstered by the presence of Spiros, and good news of Larry and their friends in Corfu, the family are jokes a-plenty. It reminds Louisa of dinner under the stars. And for the first time since returning to England Louisa feels warm. 

The children do not comment when she takes Spiros to her bed. She could even swear that they smile at each other when the leave them in the living room. And even in the morning Gerry has a cup waiting beside his mother's when the pair emerge for breakfast. 

It's a pleasant walk to Florence's. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and Spiros' hand is firm in hers. Florence lights up at the sight of her friend, and even more so at the good news from home. "I think though, Mrs Petriedes, that you should stay a little longer…" He says it pointedly, and everyone understands fully. The moment is stopped by Adonis running to see his 'Auntie Lou'. Louisa blushes at the look Spiros gives her. 

Inside, they sit for tea, left alone by Adonis who had run off goodness knows where." Forever running off places that boy. If he finds England this fascinating I can only imagine what he'll be like at home." Spiros won't go into detail on what exactly home looks like, and neither of them feel any desire to press him. Trying instead to focus on the wellbeing of their nearest and dearest. There are a few men Spiros mentions, young ones, whose names Louisa remembers as being flights of fancy for Margo. It makes her feel ill and she has to settle her cup on the table while Spiros rubs her back. It's worse for Florence. She spent much more time on Corfu, and knew well every young man in their little village. Still, even after all Spiros tells her, she is determined to return. And soon. "I will not have that boy away from his father and his home any longer than he needs to be." 

Florence is on the ferry within a week. They wave her off, all of them. The children line up beside her and Spiros like something out of a film. Gerry has surpassed Margo in height, which hadn't quite struck Louisa until that moment. Her children are all grown now. With jobs and prospects. Adults, in every sense of the word. Living through a war will make anyone grow up it seems.

Spiros proposes on the walk back to the house. Just asks her, and doesn't stop walking, acting as if this is the least momentous question that a person could ask. "Really Spiros, aren't Greeks supposed to be dramatically romantic?" 

"Maybe, but you are English. And the English are not." She takes his hand in hers and he knows her answer. 

He gives her the Greek dramatics in front of the children, who cheer and hug them each in turn. They all insist on a Greek wedding. Which is why it's another three months before they marry. 

Florence writes back with the news of rebuilding, and while Sprios would rather wait and take Louisa back to a more pleasant Corfu, she could not get home sooner. Or go much longer without being Mrs. Halikiopoulos. Eventually she wins and they book passage back to Corfu, and in the case of Spiros and Louisa, its a one way ticket. The train ride through Europe is almost as unpleasant as the one she took back to England years ago. The only saving grace of passing through the landscape is Spiros' hand in hers. The war is everywhere. Despite the warmth and softness of his grip, Spiros is steeled in every other way. Which Louis figures does not bode well for the state of Corfu. So she tries to distract herself with the children, and their discussion of what needs to be arranged still, before the wedding. 

They all have appropriate clothing, and if they didn't, at this point it's still too difficult to find anyway. Leslie insists the need for little sausages. Which is agreed upon, granting they can find them. That's the trouble with a wedding right now. Everything needs to be found. The one thing that they do not need to find is spirit. The children are absolutely bursting with it, chattering about plans and people. Louisa and Spiros are much more reserved in their own. He whispers every now and then. A small plan in her ear, things she's always wanted to do with him but never gotten the chance, and even the most chaste of suggestions earns a giggle. Eventually, their carriage is bursting with Durrell madness, and it does not diminish as they travel. 

The air is warm as they sit on the deck of the ferry. The smell of the sea is familiar to them, one thing that didn't leave them when they left Corfu. But this air seems to bring life into Louisa's soul. She can see the same reaction in her children. The way they drink in the sun is unmistakable. She can practically see the tension drain from Margo's shoulders. Gerry spots a seagull overhead and smiles a smile she hasn't seen in years. Moving over to the railing along the side of the ferry, Louisa leans over to look into the blue water below. The desire to jump in washes through her and she can't stop herself from giggling. Not even landed in Corfu and already the islands spontaneity is returning to her. 

Getting off the ferry Louisa can see that spontaneity is not an option at this particular moment. As much as she would love to hurry to the villa and jump into the sea with her children and fiance, there is a considerable amount of people waiting for them. And all of them, bar Florence, look vastly different from the last time she saw them. Most have greyed considerably. Lugaretzia's hair has turned nearly completely white. Larry has grown a beard she will need to convince off his face. They are all waiting around the car. Exactly as they had when they left all those years ago. Louisa almost wants to imagine that they hadn't moved at all, that nothing about the island has changed and nothing bad happened here. But it has. Daphne standing on her own, holding her child's hand, can attest to that. The smiles on the faces before her though, almost make her cry. 

  
What  _ does  _ make her cry is the sight of Gerry running into Theo's arms. Gerry is the taller of the two now, and that hurts more than she expected. She can see its affecting Theo too. There are hugs all around, and when those are done Spiros piles the Durrells into the car, and sets about driving them home. 


End file.
